Porcelain Angel
by R0S3 TYL3R
Summary: A few American girls come across the Doctor's easter egg in the DVD they were watching, and so they flipped it on. Lighthearted fluff. This was brought over from KayleeTam, my sister account. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Doctor Who, BBC. BBC... oh wait, you've met? Oh, there's a whole ownership thing going on. Nevermind then, I won't get in the way of it.**

"Hey look! I found an easter egg!"

We had just finished watching one of my favorite movies, and I had been clicking around on the DVD. I had pressed a strange button and on came this English guy wearing a nice suit. Everyone (being my friend and my sister) gathered to watch.

He sat there a little while, just looking at the camera. It seemed like he was paying attention to something.

"Yup, that's me," he said.

Instantly, I was confused. "Does this have a point?" I muttered to myself.

"Yes, I do," he said into the camera. It was kind of creepy, really.

"So what is it?" I asked him, waiting for a reply. I laughed a little. That would be funny if he said something like, 'I don't know.'

"Yup. And this." He seemed intent on the camera.

It was gibberish. We looked at each other, confused.

"Are you gonna read that whole thing?" The english guy looked annoyed.

"What's up with him?" my friend asked. My sister threw popcorn at the TV.

"I'm a time-traveler. Or, I was. I'm stuck in 1969."

A girl cut in. "_We're_ stuck," she corrected. "All of space and time he's promised me, and I've got a job in the shop. I've gotta support him!"

He looked annoyed again. "Martha!"

"Sorry." Martha left the screen. He stared at the camera again.

"Quite possibly."

"This guy's insane," my friend said, stealing from my sister's secret stash of popcorn. She didn't even notice.

"Afraid so," he said.

"What, you're insane?" I asked him.

He seemed defensive. "Thirty-eight."

"He's skitzo," my sister concluded.

"Yeah, people don't understand time. It's not what you think it is." He paused.

"Well then, what is it?" I asked.

"Complicated."

"That's it? Complicated?"

"Very complicated."

"Oh, that's better." I rolled my eyes and my friend laughed.

He sighed. "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect. But, actually, from a nonlinear, nonsubjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbley-wobbley, timey-wimey... stuff."

"Very descriptive," my friend said sarcastically.

"It got away from me, yeah..." he said, and if you tried hard enough, you could imagine that was a response to my friend's remark.

"Well, I _can_ hear you."

"That's a little creepy," my sister said.

"Well, not hear you exactly," he corrected himself, "but I know everything you're gonna say."

"I doubt it," I said, and grabbed some of my sister's popcorn when she wasn't looking.

"Look to your left."

We complied, and all I saw was a bookshelf. Well, if I looked straight across, I saw a little porcelain angel my mom got for her birthday.

"I've got a copy of the finished transcript," he said, matter-of-factly.

"What transcript?" my sister asked.

"What's a transcript?" my friend asked, and my sister explained it to her.

He sighed. "I told you, I'm a time-traveler. I got it in the future."

"Oooh, a transcript from the future, scary," I said, laughing.

He looked like he was trying to explain something very complicated to someone who still needs to learn two plus two. Which, I reminded myself, he just might be. We don't know the other end of this conversation. Maybe there's another DVD with the rest of the conversation on it...

"Wibbley-wobbley timey-wimey..." he interrupted.

"Again with the accurate descriptions," my friend said.

"What matters is, we can communicate," the Englishman said, apparently disregarding the ball of timey-wobbly stuff. "I've got big problems now. They have taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box."

"Who said anything about a blue box?" my sister asked.

"Are you up to anything I should know about?" I prodded my mother's porcelain angel. No blue box in her hands, though.

"Creatures from another world," he said, as if he was answering a question.

"Yeah, what about them?" my friend said, stealing popcorn again. I wondered if my sister would start noticing her diminishing snacking supplies.

"Only when you see them," he continued.

"But I don't _see_ any creatures from another world." My friend looked around pointedly.

"Lonely assassins, they used to be called," he said, and my friend rolled her eyes, "They were quite nice, where they came from, but they're as old as the universe. Or very nearly. They've only survived this long because they haev the mose perfect defence system ever evolved." He was rambling now. "They are quantum-locked. They don't exist when they're being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice. It's a fact in their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone."

"No duh," my sister cut in.

"Course, a stone can't kill you either, but then you turn your head away," he was in the storytelling spirit now, with a spooky undervoice and everything, "then you blink, and oh yes it can."

"Creeeepyyyyy," my friend said, curving her hands into claws and pretending to attack me.

"That's why they cover their eyes. They're not weeping. They can't risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their greatest curse."

"Usually is," I muttered.

"They can never be seen. Loneliest creatures in the universe." He looked into the camera again. "And I'm sorry."

"You're sorry for them?" my friend asked, "I thought they were indestructible."

"I am very, very sorry," he continued, "It's up to you now."

"I can feel the torch in my hands," I said dramatically, holding up a invisible Olympic torch. The guy paused again, finally. He had been rambling for forever.

"The blue box. It's my time machine. There is a world of time energy in there they can feast on forever, but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me."

"Sorry, but little Angelica here doesn't have it." I patted the top of the TV. "Don't worry though. I'm sure someone is crazy enough to have a little angel with a little blue box and is trying to shove it into the TV." My voice was mock sympathy. My friend cracked up.

The man looked perplexed. "Uh, that's it, I'm afraid there's no more from you on the transcript. That's the last I've got. I don't know what stopped you talking, but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you." He was intense now, really into the story. "But listen, your life could depend on this: don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and _don't blink._" His words were full of remorse. "Good luck." The easter egg returned to the main screen.

I looked over at the little porcelain angel. "You're not gonna kill us, are you?" I asked it, patting its head with a finger.

"Who talks like that?" my friend asked, guesturing at the DVD menu. 'you have got to.' Talk about bad grammar.

"He's skitzo, I just knew it," my sister said matter-of-factly. She reached into her popcorn bag and her hand returned empty.

"Hey," she said, putting down her empty popcorn bag, "You ate all my popcorn!"

She proceeded to chase us around the house.

The porcelain angel with the perfect face sat on the shelf. Nobody knew it was planning an escape, even when one day, oops, where'd it go?


End file.
